


Unsinkable

by SpaceTimeConundrum



Series: Tales from a Red Police Box [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Five wears a tux, Gen, Pete's World, Voyage of the Damned rewrite, decorative vegetables, ill-fated spaceships, menacing robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceTimeConundrum/pseuds/SpaceTimeConundrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to the Starship Titanic on Pete's World? Alt!Fifth Doctor and Astrid save London from catastrophe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to Russell T Davies for the bits of dialogue and plot points I've borrowed for this story. The alternate Fifth Doctor featured here has a slightly different history than our Doctor (for reasons that will be explained later), but he is, for the most part, incredibly similar in temperament and fashion-sense to the Five we all know and love. I hope you enjoy him.
> 
> *This story is presented here in the Classic Who-style four part serial format; it has been archived elsewhere in chaptered form.

Disabling the TARDIS recall circuit had been a more involved procedure than he'd expected. Considering the frequency with which her other, more vital systems, seemed to malfunction, it was almost inexplicable the degree of effort required for him to purposefully sabotage the link back to Gallifrey High Command. Almost. It was, after all, at least partially a security system intended to keep renegades like himself in check. He admitted grudgingly that it did make a bit of sense for such a system to be somewhat difficult to remove. That didn't make it any less irritating.

He was fleeing the Presidency for the second time in as many regenerations and after the incident with Borusa, he didn't fancy being dragged back to deal with Time Lord politics any time soon. If he'd had any sense at all, he'd have dismantled it ages ago, but it had taken the Council a long time to even note his absence, let alone attempt to bring him back, so it hadn't really occurred to him. If he'd never called them in to deal with the Warlord, alerting them to his whereabouts, he doubted the subsequent trial for interference, forced regeneration, and exile to Earth would have occurred. Once he'd regained the use of his TARDIS, he was sure he'd intended to deal with the recall circuit, but these sort of things had a tendency to get put off. Next thing you knew, a couple centuries had passed and you'd long since forgotten.

Other than the hum of the engines, the TARDIS was a remarkably quiet place now. He was traveling on his own for the first time since regenerating and finding that despite how frequently maddening his companions were, it was terribly lonely without anyone to talk to other than his ship. He'd grown quite used to the sounds of bickering voices in the console room.

He'd just left Turlough on Trion with his brother, having used the young man's request to return home as an excuse to make his hasty retreat from Gallifrey. Adric had remained behind, having finally gotten his wish to visit the Doctor's home world; the opportunity to study mathematics in the Citadel was too great a temptation for the boy to resist. The Doctor rather thought that the Time Lords would soon be regretting their decision to grant that request; no matter how fond of the lad he himself might have become, his natural exuberance, not unlike the Doctor's own as a youth, would no doubt create friction. He even missed Tegan's brash Australian voice arguing with him over his inability to land where he'd intended. He frowned as thinking of her simply served to remind him of his regrets regarding her departure from the TARDIS following their final encounter with the Mara. He couldn't blame her, three was well in excess of the number of times any sane being could be expected to deal with having their mind subsumed by a malevolent entity.

This would've been much easier if he'd still had his sonic screwdriver, he thought and added constructing a new one to his list of things to do. Climbing to his feet, the Doctor checked the console to make sure he hadn't accidentally disconnected something important. Navigation systems appeared to be online and functional, but he'd need to test it. Setting a familiar destination, he activated the time rotor and turned to retrieve his coat and jumper from the hat stand near the door.

He didn't make it that far though. There was a mighty shudder and terrific noise as the far wall of the TARDIS buckled in to reveal the prow of what appeared to be a large sea-going vessel. An old fashioned floatation ring rolled past his feet. The Doctor yelped and dashed to the controls. The shields were still down! Frantically, he cued the dematerialization sequence, reactivated the shields, and recalibrated the coordinates to land inside the ship.

"Sorry, old girl," he patted the TARDIS console apologetically, "I should have checked the shields before we left the vortex." His ship responded with a disgruntled hum.

He brushed dust off of his shirt and trousers and turned to inspect the damage. The hole in the wall had mended itself, as was to be expected, but there was still a great deal of debris strewn about the floor from the collision. There wasn't any reason why the TARDIS herself couldn't have taken care of that as well, but he suspected she was going to make him clean it up as punishment for being forgetful. He supposed he deserved that. 

The view screen revealed that he'd managed to re-park her inside of some sort of coat closet so the Doctor figured some in-person reconnaissance was in order. He ventured outside the TARDIS and opened the closet door to reveal a festive party in full swing onboard the observation deck of what appeared to be a luxury starship. The Doctor spun appreciatively in place, hands in pockets, taking it all in. The guests were humanoid at a glance and for the most part attired in varying interpretations of black tie. They mingled near the bar and sat at the many tables throughout the room as a small band played holiday songs in the background. 

He was about to head over to the windows to get a better look at the planet they were approaching when he was stopped by a firm hand. The Doctor looked up to see a large man in black suit staring down at him in obvious distaste.

"I'm sorry sir," the man began, "but while Max Capricorn Cruiseliners respects varying cultural expressions of attire, we do ask that our guests dress appropriately for dining in a multispecies environment."

The Doctor blinked and then looked down at himself. He was in just his regular striped trousers and rolled shirtsleeves, which ordinarily would not seem indecent enough to create a fuss about, but he was also covered in grease and white dust from the TARDIS, which he conceded might make him a bit of a sight for polite company. 

"Ah. I see your point," the Doctor murmured, "I'd forgotten I was in such a state. Let me just fetch my coat and I'll get myself cleaned up before I return, shall I?" Without waiting for an answer, he pivoted and ducked back inside the closet to change.

When the Doctor emerged several minutes later, it was in a smart black tuxedo and bow tie with a cream coloured waistcoat worn beneath it. With a cheerful nod to the confused look on the large man's face who'd insisted he change, he adjusted the piece of celery fixed to his lapel and sauntered unopposed into the room.

As he approached the large porthole, an official sounding voice announced that the ship was entering orbit around Sol 3, also known as Earth, and welcomed them all to Christmas, of all things. What caught the Doctor's attention though was the name of the ship. The Titanic, really? Whose idea had that been? 

He spied a computer interface on the wall nearby and wandered over to it to see if he could find any more information. When he touched the panel, he was treated to an obnoxious advertisement for the cruise line featuring its illustrious founder but devoid of any actual information regarding their voyage. He frowned and once again lamented the loss of his screwdriver, which might've come in handy here. An alternative approach occurred to him as he spotted another guest speaking with the golden robots he'd initially assumed were merely decorative, given their white robes, golden wings and haloes. He walked up to the nearest one and greeted it warmly.

"Hello, could I trouble you to answer a few questions for me please?" he asked.

"Guest information services available. Please state your query," it replied. 

"Could you tell me what the local date is on the planet below us?" While he was asking questions, he might as well see if he'd landed anywhere near in time to his programmed destination.

"Information: the date is 24 December, 2008 under the most commonly accepted planetary calendar system for Sol 3. This date coincides with an important cultural festival celebrated by a large number of the planet's dominant species known as Christmas."

"2008, ah." Close enough, the Doctor thought, at least he hadn't completely broken the navigation circuits this time. "Why was this ship named the Titanic?" he asked with an amused twinkle in his eye that was entirely lost on the robot.

"Information: the name was selected in honour of the most famous vessel of the destination planet Sol 3, the HMS Titanic."

The Doctor chuckled and muttered, "I don't suppose anyone bothered to find out just why it was so famous." He glanced at the robot's impassive metal face. "Where is the Max Capricorn Cruiseliners organization based?"

"Information: Max Capricorn Cruiseliners is incorporated out of the planet Sto, in the Casivanian Belt."

"How long until we return to port on Sto?" the Doctor inquired.

"Information: the Titanic will not be returning to Sto," it answered him.

"What? Where is our destination then?"

"Information: Information: Information," the robot began jerking its head unsteadily and repeating itself. Before he could do anything, two of the ship stewards approached swiftly, apologizing for the inconvenience and one of them pressed a button at the back of the robot's neck, deactivating it.

"So sorry, sir, just a software malfunction, please feel free to use another of our Heavenly Hosts while we see that this one is repaired immediately. Merry Christmas!" the steward told him and the two hurried off straining under the weight of their metal burden.

The Doctor frowned. That had been suspiciously abrupt. But he didn't get a chance to ask anyone about it before he was distracted by the sound of breaking glass and raised voices behind him. He turned to find a man in a slightly damp tuxedo berating a waitress as she scrambled to retrieve her tray and broken glassware from the floor at the man's feet. The man dismissed her rudely and returned to his attention to the conversation he'd obviously been having through his earpiece, muttering disparagements about the staff and how it was obvious why the company was doing so poorly.

The Doctor stooped to help the waitress clear the glass. She looked as though she'd had a hard day but had admirably maintained her cool despite behaviour the Doctor felt would have challenged his own generally pacifist tendencies. 

"Oh no, thank you, but I can get it myself sir," she protested. 

"Of course you can, but it's Christmas, isn't it? Some of us do still remember our manners." He gave her a friendly smile. "I'm the Doctor, by the way."

She smiled back at him, tucking a stray blonde curl behind her ear. "Astrid, sir, Astrid Peth."

"Lovely to meet to you Astrid." He deposited another shard on her tray carefully.

"Are you enjoying the cruise sir?" she asked him conversationally.

"I suppose I am, yes. Though, I must confess, I am finding that a cruise by one's self is... somewhat lacking," he answered her, perhaps more honestly than he'd intended.

"Oh, you're not with anyone?"

"No, not at the moment. My friends have... well, their own lives it seems. What about you?" he asked, eager to get the topic off of himself. "We're a long way from Planet Sto."

"Doesn't feel much different," she shrugged, "spent three years working in the space port diner, then I came all this way, and I'm still waiting on tables." She brushed the last bit of glass on to the tray and they both stood.

"No shore leave then?" he tipped his head meaningfully toward the nearest porthole.

"No," she shook her head regretfully, "not allowed. They can't afford the insurance. I always wanted to try it, just once..." She turned to look out the window and he moved to join her. The planet below them was beautiful, half bright blue and brown in the sunlight, half dark save for the glittering lights of cities. Their reflections were solemn in the glass.

"Never stood on another world," she continued, softly. "I used to watch those ships heading out to the stars. Always dreamt of... Ohh, sounds daft."

The Doctor understood exactly how she felt though and locked eyes with her briefly before turning to gaze out the window as he spoke. "No it doesn't. You dreamt of the extraordinary, of venturing out beyond what you already know. There's a whole wide universe of worlds to explore, stars to see, mysteries to uncover. How could anyone stand still with that much out there?" 

"...yeah," she agreed, giving him an awed look for a moment before snapping back to herself, "So! Um. Do you travel a lot, then?"

He nodded. "Constantly. When I was younger, I always wanted to see the universe. Got tired of waiting, so one day I just left. Been wandering ever since."

That look of awe returned. "You must be rich then."

He smiled and shook his head. "Hardly."

She frowned. "Then how'd you get onboard?"

He gave her a crooked smile and answered in a hushed voice, "stowed away, I'm afraid."

"You didn't!" She laughed.

"I did. Was an accident, mind you. I've my own ship and while I was doing some repair work, I bumped into the Titanic. Seemed to be a bit of a party going on, figured I might as well stay for a while."

"I should report you," she said, not at all seriously.

"No doubt." His blue eyes sparkled at her.

"I'll get you a drink. On the house." She smiled at him and hurried off with her tray before any of the stewards could catch her chatting with a guest.

His mood substantially improved after speaking with Astrid, the Doctor wandered the room, taking in the tastefully decorated Christmas tree and rapidly filling dance floor. He'd yet to have a regeneration that had any talent for dancing. Not that that had ever actually stopped his previous self, or his second, but then, neither of those regenerations had lacked for willingness to embarrass one's self. He supposed it was entirely possible he could surprise himself, since technically he'd never properly made the attempt in this body, having been rather unfortunately detained by a murder accusation the last time he'd been invited to a dance. Lacking a partner to acquire the requisite experimental data with, and reluctant to subject a complete stranger to his untested abilities, he withdrew to find somewhere to sit and await Astrid's promised reappearance.

He spotted a couple seated by themselves at a table, rather incongruously dressed in matching faux-western costumes, complete with tassels, and trying to eat whilst pointedly ignoring the sniggering at their expense occurring at the table opposite. Frowning, the Doctor noted that among the occupants of the other table was the same man who'd been so rude to Astrid earlier. He turned his back on them and approached the couple politely.

"Mind if I join you? It would seem the company here is preferable to certain other options," the Doctor opened with a significant gesture to the table behind him.

"Ignore them," said the woman, with a displeased frown, "they told us it was fancy dress. Very funny, I'm sure."

Her partner supplied, "they're just picking on us because we didn't pay. We won our tickets in a contest."

"I had to name all five husbands of Joofie Crystalle in By The Light Of The Asteroid," the woman smiled proudly, "do you ever watch By The Light Of The Asteroid?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid I've terrible luck with watching programmes; never can seem to catch them in the right order."

She nodded understandingly. "Well if you ever do manage it, it's marvellous!"

The man continued, "evidently it means we're not good enough for that lot, they think we belong in steerage."

The Doctor's eyebrows raised. He answered in a voice loud enough to be overheard, "well, it's a terrible shame that fine manners do not always accompany fine clothes, isn't it?"

The woman smiled warmly at him and patted his arm. "Oh, I like you."

The man grinned as well and said, "I'm Morvin Van Hoff and this here is my good woman Foon."

"Morvin. Foon. Delighted to make your acquaintance. I'm the Doctor," he replied charmingly.

Foon laughed, "I'll need a doctor, by the time I've finished with this buffet. Have a buffalo wing. They must be enormous, these buffalo, to have so many wings!"

His reply was interrupted by another announcement over the ship's public address system that shore leave for passengers bearing Red Six Seven tickets would be beginning shortly. Morvin and Foon dropped their chicken and scrambled to tidy themselves with napkins.

"Ooh, that's us!" Foon told the Doctor. "You going as well?"

"Why not?" he shrugged and stood.

"Well, come on then," Morvin urged them both, eager to be on his way, "we're visiting Earth!"

The Doctor, Morvin and Foon headed over to a small queue forming near where an older man in a tweed suit stood waving large metal bracelets and calling, "Red Six Seven, this way, if you would convene, fast as you can, Red Six Seven, departing shortly!" He began passing the bracelets out to the guests as they arrived.

As he followed the Van Hoffs to join the group, the Doctor passed Astrid walking by with a few beverages on her tray. She spotted him and eyes lighting up, she said, "I got you your drink," and paused to pass him a glass of something bubbly. 

He grinned at her, suddenly getting an idea. He put down his drink and relieved her of her tray, setting it on a nearby table. "And I've got you something better my dear, come with me!" Taking her by the hand, he turned and waved to the man handing out bracelets, "Red Six Seven, two more, sorry we're late!"

"Hurry up then. If you would please take a teleport bracelet, both of you," the man replied, obviously in too much of a hurry to ask for the Doctor's credentials.

The Doctor slipped his on and grinned at Astrid. She tugged on his arm, pulling him off to the side to hiss, "are you mad? I'll get the sack!"

"Brave heart, Astrid," he said cheerfully, "occasionally one must take risks to realise your dreams." His grin gained a mischievous cast.

She looked down at the bracelet in her hands and then back at him. If her mother could see her now, she was sure she'd be getting a lecture about the foolishness of running off with handsome men she'd just met, but she slipped the bracelet on her wrist anyway. She hadn't come all this way just to serve drinks to ungrateful sods with terrible manners. The Doctor looked pleased and the two of them moved closer to the group, who'd gathered for the pre-transport briefing.

The tweed-suited man introduced himself as Mr. Copper, the ship's historian and informed them that they would be going to London, familiar territory for the Doctor, and proceeded to provide them with a wildly inaccurate description of the celebration of Christmas, involving, for some reason, cannibalism and zeppelins. The Doctor raised his eyebrows at this.

"Pardon me," he asked raising a hand, "but where ever did you hear this?"

Mr. Copper sniffed and straightened proudly, "I have a first class degree in Earthonomics. Now then, if you'd all..."

He was interrupted by the arrival of a small red spiked man in a tuxedo, who barrelled up to the group frantically waving his shore leave pass. 

Mr. Copper sighed, "if you would take your bracelet sir, we're about to depart."

"Hold on," the Doctor stepped forward, "sorry, but, if I recall correctly, Earth is still a level five planet. Christmas Eve, the streets will be filled with shoppers in London right now. The rest of us, we'll pass for human but, I'm sorry, what was your name?" he asked the red man.

"Bannakaffalatta."

"...Bannakaffalatta here will surely draw unwanted attention. These people have had very limited contact with peaceful alien visitors, it could be very dangerous to take him down with us. My apologies," he added to Bannakaffalatta, who looked mildly affronted by this.

"Mr. Bannakaffalatta?" Mr. Copper looked to the man expectantly.

Bannakaffalatta looked at the Doctor as though he'd been particularly dim and tapped the silver cuff on his wrist. "Shimmer," was all he said and the Doctor blinked as his brilliant red colouring was replaced with a rather convincing human appearance. He raised a simulated eyebrow at the Doctor and turned back to face their guide. The Doctor closed his mouth and returned to Astrid's side without another word.

Mr. Copper clapped his hands and stepped over to the teleportation podium. "Now then, if you're all quite finished, we're already behind schedule as it is." He pressed a button and the Doctor felt the intensely unsettling sensation of having all of his internal organs shifted ever so slightly in opposite directions before being pressed back together again that tended to accompany teleports from this era.

Despite his prediction, the Doctor found himself standing on a largely deserted city street. He turned in place, looking for familiar landmarks to orient himself. It had been a while since he'd been in London any time near this period. He vaguely recalled a rise in the popularity of personal electronics and some disquietingly authoritarian curfew laws. His internal time sense calibrated itself to the planet quickly, he'd been to Earth rather frequently, after all, and told him that it was only nearing eight p.m. Behind him, Mr. Copper was instructing the others that local currency was available to purchase souvenirs should they find something they liked. 

Where were all the shoppers? He had a sudden flash of concern that there were indeed curfew laws in effect in the city right now and they were all in violation of them. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd been apprehended within moments of landing on a planet, but it would rather spoil the nice outing he'd hoped to give Astrid, if it came to that. He turned to find her gazing in wonder at the scene around them and smiled.

"It's so beautiful," she murmured, eyes wide.

The Doctor had seen a great many things in his long life which he would gladly describe as breathtakingly beautiful. An abandoned high street in London hardly qualified. But this was why he brought companions with him in the TARDIS; they were more than just good company, they made him see what his old and often jaded eyes missed. 

Astrid was positively ecstatic, babbling, half to herself, half to him. "Oh wow! It's a different planet! I'm standing on a different planet!" The Doctor grinned, her enthusiasm was contagious. "It's cold and there's like... concrete! And shops! Alien shops! Real alien shops! And what are those, airships? In the sky, making that humming sound?" She pointed upwards at London's ever-present zeppelin traffic. She spun around to take it all in before turning to look at him. "This is amazing! Thank you!" She seized the surprised Time Lord in a fierce hug.

When she released him, he took her by the hand and said, "let's see what other marvels we can find for you tonight."

The street was not, as he'd initially thought, entirely abandoned. There was in fact a small news agent's stand with a light on not far from them, with the lonely silhouette of a man inside framed in its window. The Doctor led Astrid over to speak with the man.

Closer inspection revealed a man in his sixties, wearing a red woollen cap pulled down to cover his ears and two sets of holiday antlers festively perched atop his head. He had a steaming thermos of something warm at the ready and was watching a programme with the sound on low on a portable video screen perched on a shelf behind the counter. The headlines on the newspapers surrounding him were vaguely concerning, asking questions like "Is London Safe" and "Have We Found Them All?" "A World Remembers" read one weekly magazine nearest the Doctor; its cover featured a collage of thousands of tiny photographs, presumably of the victims of some great tragedy.

The feeling of unease in the Doctor's stomach returned. "Hello," he greeted the man, "I'm sorry, but could you tell me where everyone is?"

The man gave him a quizzical look. "Scared, I expect."

"Scared?" the Doctor asked, "scared of what exactly?"

"Where've you been, mate? S'only been a few months since they found that last bunch of 'em, hasn't it?"

"Pardon?" the Doctor wasn't sure what he was referring to.

"That Cybus lot, Lumic's metal horrors... the Cybermen," he said, exasperatedly, finally getting a response from the Doctor on this last name.

The Doctor, for his part, had gone white as a sheet. "There were Cybermen, here? In London?" He'd tangled with them before, seen the devastation of the Cyber Wars firsthand even, but those battles had all taken place in the far future. "What happened?" he asked the man, trying not to sound desperate, but well aware that this face did a rather poor job of masking his emotions most of the time. Astrid gave him a concerned look.

The older man frowned. "You really don't know? It was that Lumic fellow, they say. Thought he knew better than the rest of us what made a good human. Took over the EarPods, used 'em to lure people into his factories and used their brains for his metal monsters. Killed my Sylvia and about five million more poor souls." The man's voice was beginning to break down at this and the Doctor instantly regretted asking him to recount the tale. The man shook his head to regain his composure and continued, "but the Preachers stopped them, they did, and nobody's seen those metal monsters since they cleaned out Torchwood a few months ago. Just disappeared; everyone's worried they'll be back, you see."

He leaned forward and lowered his voice, "President Jones says they didn't kill 'em, but everyone knows the Torchwood Institute's been keeping alien technology in their vaults." He tapped his nose with a finger.

The Doctor nodded as he processed this information. He was too far removed from the pivotal events for his time senses to offer him any real clear picture of what had and would happen here but it felt like something big had been set in motion. What if the Earth was where the Cybermen had originated all along?

He knew that the fate of the entire universe, nor even, indeed, the fate of this small blue planet was not solely his personal responsibility but the Doctor couldn't help but feel a pang of regret that he hadn't been here to stop this from happening. Humanity had many faults, but he had grown quite attached to Earth over the years he'd spent travelling time and space.

He was about to thank the news agent for speaking with him but instead found himself being teleported back to the Titanic in orbit. 

Back on the planet, the startled man shook his head as his potential customers disappeared before his eyes. "Tourists," he muttered and returned to his programme. 

\-----

The Doctor frowned as he realised he was back on the Titanic's observation deck along with the other, puzzled members of the shore leave party. He'd rather expected they'd be given some sort of warning before their planet-side time expired. He met Astrid's wide eyes and she shrugged, giving his arm a friendly squeeze as she ducked behind him to slip away from the group before one of her supervisors spotted her. Looking around, he noted that their abrupt recall to the ship had caught Mr. Copper by surprise as well; something must be wrong.

They were greeted by the anxious-looking Chief Steward who reassured everyone that their trip had merely been postponed for later due to a slight power fluctuation and that complimentary drinks would be provided as compensation for the inconvenience. Mr. Copper recovered from his own obvious confusion and began collecting the teleport bracelets from the passengers, adding in his own apologies as he directed everyone towards the bar.

The Doctor neatly dodged around the smaller man and walked up to the Chief Steward who no doubt had at least a slightly better idea of what was going on than their inept tour guide. As his luck would have it, he was joined by the same crewman with whom he'd spoken to earlier regarding his lack of appropriate dinner attire. No doubt this conversation would go swimmingly as well.

"Excuse me, what sort of power fluctuation?" he asked, ignoring the rather disapproving gaze of the large crewman. Just as he spoke, the lights dimmed and flickered alarmingly. The crowd of partygoers around them paused only briefly in their revelry before resuming as though nothing amiss had occurred. 

"Nothing to be concerned about sir; just a bit of a hiccough in the secondary power circuits, playing tricks with the lighting. We have multiple redundant circuits in place for all of the vital ship's systems for just this reason. If you would just rejoin your party in the bar, the crew will have everything back to normal in no time," the man answered him in a tone that spoke of a wealth of experience placating unhappy passengers. There was a hint of tension in his eyes though, that betrayed his own uncertainty.

"I'm sure under ordinary circumstances you would, but I'm quite skilled at sensing when things have deviated rather substantially from the norm and not terribly fond of being lied to, especially when it's for my own good. Whatever it is, I assure you, I can help." The Doctor's voice was firm but quick as he began to sense the tell-tale signs of imminent disaster coiling in the timelines around them.

The man did not get a chance to respond to him though. The lights flickered again and the ship shuddered. The Doctor spun around, looking out the nearest porthole. He could see nothing more than the glowing surface of the planet below them. Another forceful shudder, and stepping closer to the glass, the Doctor could see a thin trail of gas venting into space accompanied by a smattering of small rocks whizzing past the hull. An interstellar cruise ship like this, the shields should be more than capable of repelling meteorites of that size, he thought. 

The rest of the passengers had now abandoned their drinking and dancing to gather around the windows to watch the incoming meteorite shower, largely oblivious to the very real danger they were all in. None of the jolts to the ship thus far had been severe enough to convince their intoxicated brains that this was anything other than a lovely show orchestrated by the cruise line for their enjoyment.

The steward had taken advantage of his distraction to beat a hasty retreat and without official access permissions, the information panels on the walls were of little use to him, so Doctor seized hold of the first golden robot host he encountered. It had been standing to the side, seeming completely oblivious to the activity around it on the observation deck. "What is the status of the shields?" the Doctor demanded of the host.

"Information regarding ship operations not available to guests for security reasons," it replied without moving.

"This is an emergency!" hissed the Doctor in frustration. "Don't you have special protocols for that? We've already had a minor hull breach!"

"Information: you are all going to die." The golden robot rotated its head to stare directly at the Doctor as it said this.


	2. Part Two

The Doctor's eyes widened and he backed away from the host. Sidestepping to avoid tripping over the many tables and chairs in his way, he turned to run for the exit at the rear of the observation deck's ballroom where the Chief Steward and the large crewman were headed. Not caring if he was overheard at this point, the Doctor shouted, "we appear to be headed right for a meteor shower and your little power fluctuation could very well get us all killed if it's affected the shields! I suggest you get in contact with the bridge immediately!"

His noisy departure did not go unnoticed; he was followed out into the corridor by Astrid, Morvin, Foon, Bannakaffalatta, and the rude man in the dinner jacket. Out of sight of the guests, another member of the crew was frantically attempting to hail the bridge while Mr. Copper complained to his partner about the broken teleporters. The Chief Steward, still hoping to avoid a scene, shut the door to the ballroom as everyone began speaking at once.

The exasperated man held up his hands for quiet as the lights on the ship continued to flicker sporadically. Ignoring him, the Doctor pushed his way over to the crewman on the comm, neatly taking his place in front of a functional computer terminal. With a few swift keystrokes, he was able to bring up the ship's schematic and blanched at the collision warning blinking on the screen.

"The shields are down and we've got at least two large meteoroids headed right for us!" the Doctor cried.

The crewman who'd been attempting to contact the bridge spoke up, "sir, no one's answering the comm! Lieutenant Simms said his system's locked up and he can't get anyone on the bridge to answer him either." 

The Doctor addressed the panicked group, raising his voice and attempting to imbue it with as much authority as he could muster, "we need to get everyone to the interior of the ship, as quickly as possible."

The crew, eager to have something to do, moved to obey him, but they were too late. The ship lurched violently, throwing them all across the compartment as the first of the larger meteoroids made impact. They were plunged into darkness when the power cut, giving them no warning to brace for the second strike. It was much worse than the first, and did considerably more significant damage to the ship; unbeknownst to those inside, it very nearly sheared the mighty cruise liner in half. 

Inside the small corridor, sparks flew as electrical cabling snapped and everyone was tossed against the bulkheads like rag dolls just as the artificial gravity field failed, causing further chaos. The Doctor did his best to protect his head from debris with his arms until the turbulence ceased and they were all dumped unceremoniously back to the floor when the emergency power systems kicked in.

The Doctor landed heavily on his right side, all of his weight returning with only one arm outstretched to support himself, and he felt something wrench painfully as his elbow buckled beneath him. Gasping for air, he rolled over onto his back and waited for the pain to subside before shifting again to check on the others. In the dim emergency lighting, he saw Mr. Copper crawl out from beneath the damaged computer terminal, glasses askew, while in a corner, Morvin helped pull his wife unsteadily to her feet. Around him, the others were working on regaining their footing or were busy taking inventory of their own injuries. 

The impact had dislodged two support struts near the door; they had fallen once the gravity returned and pinned one of the crewmembers and Bannakaffalatta to the floor. The Doctor rose to his feet carefully, clutching his arm, and bent to check on the two trapped men. The pinned crewman seemed to have suffered a blow to the head and wasn't breathing but Bannakaffalatta was moving his hands and groaning slightly. 

"Here!" the Doctor called to the large crewman standing closest to him, "give me a hand will you? He's trapped under this." He turned back to reassure Bannakaffalatta that they'd have him out in a moment, only to find Astrid at his side, already doing her best to comfort the man.

The crewman didn't argue and left off helping the rude passenger look for his missing vone to assist the Doctor. He was joined by both of the Van Hoffs and together, they were able to lift the beam for long enough for the Doctor and Astrid to pull the small spiked man free. Belatedly, as he bent over the alien man to examine his injuries, it occurred to the Doctor that by removing the weight from his chest they may very well have simply accelerated his death; depending on how badly he'd been crushed, he could bleed out internally before they could do anything about it. But it seemed there was more to Bannakaffalatta than met the eyes, as he discovered when he pulled open the man's dress shirt to reveal a dented metal casing.

"You're a cyborg!" the Doctor marvelled. 

Bannakaffalatta grunted and said in a defeated voice, "not so loud! No need for everyone to know. Just... need to recharge. Be fine."

The Doctor nodded after briefly verifying that he wasn't otherwise damaged and stood to see if anyone else required medical attention. Behind them, the Chief Steward had stepped forward to address the group.

"Ah. Ladies and gentlemen and beings of alternative designation, I must apologise on behalf of Max Capricorn Cruiseliners. We seem to have had a small collision..."

At that preposterous understatement, half the room erupted at once, the passengers talking over one another at the man, demanding explanations.

The steward looked overwhelmed but asserted himself quickly, "if everyone could just be silent, I'll be happy to address all of your concerns. A moment, if you will." No one listened. "QUIET PLEASE!" he finally shouted and that got the desired result.

"Thank you. Now," he huffed, "I'm sure Max Capricorn Cruiseliners will reimburse you for any inconvenience. In the meantime, I would like to point out that we are very much alive. If you could all remain here, I'm just going to ascertain the exact nature of our current predicament." With this, he straightened his uniform and pulled the handle on the door that led back to the ballroom. 

"Wait!" the Doctor shouted when he heard the unmistakable hiss of escaping gases, but it was too late.

The door whipped open violently as the airlock seal was broken and both the Chief Steward and the smaller surviving crewman were sucked out of the compartment in the rush of released air. The other passengers were fortunately able to grab something to hang on to in time to avoid a similar fate. Feeling his respiratory bypass activate, the Doctor flung himself at the computer terminal and jabbed frantically at the controls until he found the emergency oxygen shield. He activated it and the wind in the corridor died down immediately.

"Is everyone all right?" he asked in a shaky voice. "Astrid? Morvin? Foon? Mr. Copper? Bannakaffalatta?" They all nodded. "You two, what are your names?" he asked the rude passenger and large crewmember.

"Rickston Slade," replied the smaller man, brushing off his tuxedo jacket.

"George Cavil," answered the crewman, not taking his eyes off of the doorway his fellow crewmembers had just been swept out of.

"You both all right?" the Doctor asked them.

"No thanks to that idiot, I am," Rickston growled. 

"The steward just died!" Astrid admonished him.

"Well, then he's a dead idiot, isn't he?" Rickston snapped.

"Everyone, calm down," the Doctor commanded, "just stay put and no one touch any more doors until I get back." 

He walked over through the open doorway to have a look, a shimmering force field that lay just beyond the only thing separating them from the cold vacuum of space. Astrid followed and crouched next to him behind a sturdy piece of furniture that had been bolted to the floor, just in case. 

"What happened? Why were the shields down?" she asked him quietly.

"I'm not sure, but I don't believe it was an accident," he answered her grimly.

Together they gazed out at the remains of the ballroom, an enormous section of the outer wall had been ripped open along with portions of several of the decks below. Lit by the reflected sunlight from the Earth below, they could make out bodies floating in the debris, and, to the Doctor's dismay, one familiar red police box.

He breathed a nearly silent Gallifreyan curse but Astrid heard him anyway and glanced at him sharply. "What was that?"

He ran a hand through his disheveled blond hair and sighed. "I was going to suggest that we try to get to my ship, but I'm afraid that won't be possible. That's it out there," he pointed. "That red box over there."

"That's a spaceship?" Astrid sounded incredulous. "Seems awful small." He gave her a look. "Not that there's anything wrong with small," she amended.

He sighed again and drummed the fingers of his good arm against his leg. "Haven't got a remote control then?" she suggested hopefully.

He laughed. "No, but that's a good idea." He frowned as they watched the TARDIS grow more distant. "She's programmed to lock on to the nearest centre of gravity if she's set adrift, a modification I added after the last incident required an impromptu spacewalk to retrieve her. Unfortunately for us, that means she'll head for the planet."

"Damn."

"Precisely," he agreed.

Astrid sat with the Doctor as he watched his beloved ship disappear from view with a forlorn expression on his face. She shivered at the death and destruction all around them, moving closer to him for comfort; if she hadn't followed the Doctor into the corridor, it could have just as easily been her body out there, floating away to burn up in the atmosphere of a planet far from home.

"So many people gone... what do we do now?" she asked him, knowing that the others were likely getting restless waiting on them. 

Her question snapped him out of his own dark thoughts and refocused him to the problem at hand. "First thing," he said, standing, "we need to see about getting in touch with other survivors on the crew. We're in danger of losing orbit if we can't get the engines fully back online."

"Oh." She'd been too distracted by the scope of the damage to realise that it was much quieter on the ship than it ought to be; the normal steady hum and gentle vibration of the deck plates that she'd become so accustomed to was missing. 

She must've appeared frightened by this new information, because the Doctor seized her by the shoulders and knelt to look her in the eyes and reassure her. "Look at me, Astrid. I'm going to get us out of here alive. I promise."

Up close, she noticed that his eyes were a deep, calming blue; there was something about them made her want to believe him. She nodded and got to her feet.

They returned to the corridor to join the others. George had found a medical kit and was busy applying a splint to Mr. Copper's wrist. Morvin and Foon were sitting with Bannakaffalatta, discussing something about his circuitry. Rickston had located his missing vone and was pacing up and down angrily as he struggled to get it to work.

The Doctor removed fallen debris from the computer terminal and retrieved the comm handset. It powered on, always a good sign. "Where are we exactly?" he asked George.

"Forward corridor nine on deck twenty two," the crewman replied.

The Doctor keyed the comm. "Deck Twenty Two to the Bridge, hello? Is anyone there? Deck Twenty Two to the Bridge, come in please."

Silence. Everyone in the room held their breath as they waited for a response.

Then, a weary voice crackled over the comm, "...this is the Bridge."

"Hello! Good to hear a friendly voice at last." The Doctor grinned, delighted that someone at the helm had survived the impact. "We've eight people alive here, but the majority of the foredeck is a loss, I'm afraid. What's the situation up there?"

There was a pause, followed by, "we've got air; looks like the oxygen shield is holding for now, but the Captain, he's dead." The man's voice grew sharp and panicky. "He did it. He pulled the shields down - I tried to stop him but there was nothing I could do! I did try..."

"That's all right, I'm sure you did. Stay with me. Tell me your name," the Doctor said gently.

"Midshipman Frame, sir,"

"Good to meet you, Midshipman, I'm the Doctor. Now, are there any lifeboats onboard?"

"They're all offline; it's like it was deliberate!"

The Doctor frowned, their situation just kept getting better and better. "Never mind that for now, I need to you check on the engines for me. We're drifting out of orbit."

"Hold on." There was a heavy sound of something metal being moved slowly and a gasp of pain from Frame.

"Are you injured?"

"I'm all right, don't worry about me," he replied and the Doctor could hear him breathing heavily over the comm. "Oh no! They're cycling down, we're losing power."

The Doctor thought quickly. "That's a Nuclear Storm Drive, correct?"

"Yeah. If they power all the way down, we'll never get them started again in time!"

The Doctor grimaced. Something needed to be done quickly; if they lost the engines entirely, it would be more than just their lives at stake. In a crash, a Nuclear Storm Drive was nothing more than a massive bomb. The ship could easily kill millions on impact and release a cloud of radiation that would contaminate an even greater area for decades. The Earth below them was still recovering from their clash with the Cybermen; they didn't need nuclear fallout to add to their worries. None of this, however, was getting them out of danger so he pushed those thoughts aside and tried to remember what he knew about how these particular engines were designed.

"Midshipman, I need you to fire up the Engine Containment Field and feed it back into the Core. That should stabilize things until I can get up there to help you."

"That'll never work, you'll overload the system!" the man cried, but the Doctor could tell he'd obeyed him anyway when the ship lurched as the engines regained some of their previous vigour. "The field's been rerouted but none of the helm controls are responding! Someone's going to have to get aft and reset the manual override from there. I can't get any of the engineers on the comm."

The Doctor spoke deliberately, keeping his own concerns from his voice, "it won't overload, at least, not right away; it ought to buy us about five hours, which should be sufficient." He tapped at the computer terminal, trying to find a map of the Titanic to use. There, seventeen decks below them, to the rear of the ship, was the auxiliary engine control bay. The map was far from comprehensive, but the Doctor did his best to memorize a few possible routes. He had no idea how damaged the rest of the ship was, but the fact that they still had some power was encouraging.

"We're closer," the Doctor told him, "I'll reset the manual override. You just keep those engines humming and the oxygen inside the ship. Don't stop trying to get in touch with other survivors if you can."

"There's supposed to be an automatic emergency beacon. We should have rescue ships on the way, but I'm not showing a signal." The bridge crewman still sounded breathless.

The Doctor leaned forward over the terminal desk and winced as he accidentally put weight on his right arm. Straightening and pulling the arm back to his chest protectively, he turned to face the others in the room with him as he thought. Spotting Rickston standing against a bulkhead, glowering at him with his vone in hand, a possibility occurred to him. 

"Rickston, your vone isn't working either?" He held out a hand to the disgruntled man. "Let me see it." The man reluctantly parted with the gadget. The Doctor retrieved his glasses from a pocket and examined the vone carefully.

"It doesn't look like it was damaged; you should be able to get a signal on this practically anywhere."

"Considering what I paid for it, I ought to, yes," Rickston grumbled.

The Doctor returned to the comm. "Mr. Frame, I suspect that whomever is responsible for the sabotage of this ship has set up a blanketing field. I very much doubt that anyone knows we're in trouble out here. It's probably wisest to assume we're on our own."

Behind him, Foon wailed that they were all going to die and started to sob. This set off the others as well; the tone of their voices beginning to verge on panic as they speculated as to who could've done such a thing and what would happen to them. Only Astrid and the Doctor managed to maintain their composure. He needed to step in before the situation got entirely out of hand.

He stood straighter and raised his voice in an attempt to recapture their attention to little avail until Astrid interrupted their crying and arguing with an ear splitting whistle. They stopped talking and starred at her.

"That's better. Panicking isn't going to do us any good; listen to the Doctor, he has a plan," Astrid yielded the floor to the Doctor with a wink.

"Ah, thank you," he nodded to her appreciatively, "as I was trying to say, we may be on our own, but hope is not lost. We just need to remain calm. We have air, we have power, for a few more hours at least, and we are going to survive. Step one is simple. We're going to climb through the ship..."

"Now wait just a minute. Who put you in charge?" Rickston demanded.

"Recently? The High Council of Gallifrey," was the Doctor's dry reply.

Rickston didn't even blink at this and continued speaking, clearly well-convinced of his own importance. "Well I don't know who the hell they are, but..."

"Oh do shut up, will you?" the Doctor interrupted him. He'd had quite enough of this nonsense today. "We've seventeen decks to traverse so that we can restore power to the engines before this ship loses orbit, killing everyone aboard and millions on the planet below. I'm a Time Lord. I've spent more than six hundred years dealing with situations like this and it would help, it really would, if you quit arguing and let me get on with saving all of our lives."

Rickston closed his mouth. The others were looking at the Doctor as though he'd suddenly grown a second head; he'd been remarkably polite in tone despite his urgency up until this point and he'd found with this body especially, people generally tended to underestimate him. This was not without its occasional benefits, true, but it did make getting people to listen to him when the time came to take charge of a situation more difficult.

Tegan had once had to drag him away from a carnival hawker who'd been operating a "Guess Your Age" betting game. He'd only been trying to prove a point that time was relative and once you'd done enough travelling through the galaxy, age became an extremely subjective measurement, but she'd reminded him that Earth in 1892 was perhaps not the best venue for that conversation. She may have had a point when she'd suggested that he'd just been upset that the man had guessed he was only twenty seven.

"Anyone else have any objections?" he asked the group mildly.

No one spoke up. George and Mr. Copper shook their heads. Foon wiped her tears and stood with her husband, putting on a brave face. Bannakaffalatta regained his feet as well and straightened his dinner jacket. Rickston scowled but stayed silent. Astrid grinned at him.

"Right then. Shall we?"

Wary of the unfortunate fate that met the last person in their party to blithely open a door, the Doctor approached the hatch at the far end of the small corridor cautiously. Grasping the handle tightly, he nodded to the others. "Best hold tight to something, just in case." They hastily obeyed him.

Screwing his eyes shut in anxious anticipation, the Doctor turned the handle slowly and eased the door open. When it swung quietly without any dramatic shifts in air pressure, they all breathed a sigh of relief and pushed onward into the adjoining compartment. Unlike the observation deck, this section had not been sheared open to space, though the damage done by the collision with the meteorites was quite evident. The survivors picked their way carefully through the scattered debris, eyeing the bowed bulkhead support struts for any sign of sudden failure.

They repeated this procedure of incremental progress through the next three hatches before encountering an obstacle that required them to divert from the more or less direct course that the Doctor had plotted. Just beyond an area that under normal circumstances served as a foyer for some of the ship's elegantly appointed first class staterooms, they came to a narrow corridor that had been entirely blocked by a collapsed wall. Unable to shift it, even with the combined efforts of the burly George, the Doctor, and cyborg Bannakaffalatta (three persons being the maximum number of bodies that could be reasonably positioned to make the attempt with any hope of efficacy), they were forced to backtrack.

Regrettably, both to the Doctor's recollection of the map and George's memory, there was very little in the way of readily available alternate routes from their present location. Both the nearest bank of lifts and service stairway lay opposite the blocked passage. Having quite recovered from his minor humbling outside the observation deck, Rickston pounced at the slightest sign of hesitation on the Doctor's part and launched into a lengthy diatribe on their current state of affairs and the disgraceful status of the Max Capricorn Corporation in general. Lacking a better plan, and perhaps not just a little motivated by a hearty desire to see the back of Rickston's whinging for a moment, the Doctor decreed that they should divide their forces to search the staterooms for secondary exits or in the very least something that might prove useful in clearing the fallen wall away.

George helpfully supplied the emergency passcode to open the private guestrooms and the Doctor and Astrid took the door nearest to the end on the left. The suite was comprised of a central sitting room and discrete entertainment area with an attached bedroom and bath. Keeping in theme with the ship's name, it managed a respectable reproduction of early 20th century Earth decorative styling. The walls were covered in light wooden paneling and richly hued fabrics dominated the soft furnishings. Structurally, the stateroom had escaped significant damage, perhaps because they were further toward the interior of the ship, but something seemed amiss. A single velvet chair had been overturned and a glass table had been shattered with no sign of the cause in evidence. Curiosity turned to alarm as they approached the scene to discover blood amidst the broken glass.

"Someone's been hurt," Astrid murmured quietly. She looked around quickly, as though the injured person might appear suddenly from behind the sofa.

"Yes," was the Doctor's curt reply and he moved swiftly to check the adjoining room. In the bedroom there was more blood, quite a lot of it actually, and more distressingly, the former occupant of the suite, now obviously deceased. Astrid followed him in and gasped when she saw the body lying next to the bed. The Doctor crouched next to the man; despite the generous quantity of blood splashed about, he had a sinking suspicion that the glass hadn't been what killed him. The man hadn't been dead very long and when the Doctor rolled the body to examine his injuries, his head flopped forward at a sickening angle.

"His neck's been snapped," the Doctor stood quickly, rubbing his palms against his trousers.

"How'd he get in here then?" she asked without thinking.

The Doctor simply looked at her, his demeanour deadly serious, all trace of the charming young man he'd seemed before had disappeared from his eyes. "Oh. Oh!" She'd been so focused on the meteor strike that her mind had completely skipped over the possibility that the man could've been deliberately killed by someone. "Do you think whoever did this is still onboard the ship?" she asked.

"That's what I'm afraid of," he replied and turned to make a grim search of the en suite. It was free of lurking murderers, but that didn't exactly make the Doctor feel much better. In his more maudlin moments, he often felt that perhaps Tegan had been right in claiming that death and destruction seemed to follow him around. He worried that the part of himself that relished the danger and excitement somehow attracted it, as though his presence formed a gravity well for calamity. A rational portion of his mind, whose voice sounded remarkably like his third self, reminded him that there would be plenty of time to contemplate his place in the universe after he'd dealt with the current catastrophe.

He returned to the bedroom to find Astrid standing next to the body, clutching protectively a length of metal tubing that must have come from the broken table. Her pale eyes were focused on the dead man but she looked up at him when he entered. The fear that had been so evident in her expression earlier had been replaced by a fierce determination that made him both proud and a little bit sad. How quickly they adapted to the most dire of circumstances.

"Nothing in the bath. We'll just have to keep our wits about us as we continue on. Find anything of use out here?" he asked with a somewhat ironic glance at the makeshift weapon she'd acquired.

Her cheeks coloured slightly and her hand tightened on the tube but she resisted the urge to explain it. "There's a ventilation access port in the other room, but it's far too small to squeeze through," she replied, back on task, quick as lightning.

"A pity, it's been ages since I've had the opportunity to crawl through claustrophobic metal ducting," he joked, in an attempt to lighten the mood. He caught the barest flicker of a smile cross her face. Good, her sense of humour hadn't abandoned her just yet. "Let's go see if the others are getting on any better."

When he opened the door, it became apparent to the Doctor that he'd overlooked something critical when he'd suggested they split their party; unlike the less exclusive passenger cabins, the first class suites were heavily soundproofed. His ears were greeted by shouts of terror and the sounds of an ongoing struggle.


	3. Part Three

The Doctor and Astrid ran towards the commotion emanating from the open doorway to one of the adjacent suites. Inside was pure chaos. In their absence, the rest of the group had come under attack. Two of the golden host robots that he'd first encountered on the observation deck were presently attempting to kill them all. One had Foon's arm in a tight grip and was swinging wildly to pull her in tighter. She was kicking and screaming at it while Morvin and Bannakaffalatta tried to pull her free. The other robot was advancing toward them to aid its partner despite the efforts of George, Rickston and Mr. Copper to restrain it from behind.

"Doctor!" George shouted when he spotted him. "The Hosts have gone mad! And the emergency shut off switches aren't working!"

The Doctor ducked as a golden halo came whizzing past his head. Mr. Copper's hold on the robot's right arm had faltered, allowing it to fling him back against the wall and release its deadly projectile. The Doctor rushed forward further into the room and grabbed hold of a chair.

"Astrid! Get Mr. Copper out of here! George, Rickston, keep that thing back for just a moment longer if you can!" he exclaimed, charging toward the other Host with his chair.

Holding it in front of himself like a shield, or more accurately, a battering ram, the Doctor executed his best rugby tackle at the robot's legs, shouting for Morvin and Bannakaffalatta to pull Foon free as it toppled over backwards. The impact rattled his teeth and sent shooting pains up his already injured arm but it was effective. He didn't have time to lay about and recover though. He rolled clear of the Host and pulled himself to his feet as quickly as possible.

"Everyone, run!" he bellowed as he followed his own advice.

George and Rickston released their struggling Host and cleared the threshold hot on the Doctor's heels. He slammed a hand on the door controls, frantically keying in the lock sequence as the menacing robot headed towards them, arms outstretched, face eerily impassive.

"Information," it said, voice coldly metallic, "all survivors must be killed."

"Sorry," the Doctor replied to it, "afraid we've other plans this evening!"

The door sealed closed just before it reached them and the Doctor borrowed Astrid's metal tube to smash the lock controls for good measure.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" Rickston snarled.

Ignoring him, the Doctor turned to the others. They looked much the worse for wear, but they were all still alive at least. "That won't hold them long. We need to get out of here. Fast."

"Bannakaffalatta found way out. Was coming to tell when Host attacked. Broken wall has two sides." The spiky red man grinned.

"Marvellous, lead on!" the Doctor cried.

Bannakaffalatta led them to the door directly opposite the stateroom the Doctor and Astrid had searched. This suite had been larger and thanks to its location nearer to the port side of the ship, had sustained far more damage than the starboard cabins. The fallen wall that had blocked their passage to the stairwell had originally been a part of this stateroom. It meant climbing over unsteady rubble and an incredibly tight squeeze for some of their party, but the fear of death is a remarkable motivator.

Once through the corridor, they were able to force the door to the stairwell open wide enough to clamber inside. They might've stopped to catch their breath there had the space been in better shape. As it was, while the stairs themselves seemed sound enough, the two bulkhead walls nearest to the collapse in the corridor bowed dangerously and in several places heavy girders had shifted to narrow the passage to the below decks. The Doctor urged them onward carefully, promising that once they'd exited the stairwell, they would find a safe place to rest for a bit before continuing.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, the stairs they'd taken did not descend further than Deck Thirty Five. This was largely merciful insofar as now that the immediate danger of the deadly Hosts had passed, and invigorating stress hormones faded from their bloodstreams, many of them had begun to feel their injuries and fatigue in earnest. It did, however, mean that after they'd rested, there would still be four more decks to traverse.

Mr. Copper's condition was the worst of the lot, and the group took turns carrying him along. Astrid took it upon herself to keep him talking to keep his spirits up and mind off of the terrible pain he was clearly experiencing. The Doctor listened quietly to their conversation as he attempted to ignore the throbbing of his own right arm.

"There'll be an inquiry when this is all over you know," the older man muttered. "Loads of official types, asking questions. Pointing fingers. They'll find me out for sure," he half sobbed.

"Find what out?" Astrid asked him.

"I haven't really got a proper degree in Earthonomics, lied about my qualifications t'get this job. Worked my whole life on Sto, and in the end I didn't have anything to show for it, to retire with, you see." He sighed heavily. "Earth seemed like such a nice planet, with their Christmas and zeppelins."

"That doesn't seem so bad," Foon piped up from behind them, encouragingly.

"Except the minimum sentence for fraud is ten years! I'm an old man, I won't make it ten years in prison," he moaned.

"I'm sure we'll think of something. Just you worry about getting out of here in one piece first, huh?" Astrid soothed.

"I do believe this is our exit," the Doctor announced. They had arrived at the base of the seemingly endless stairwell at last.

They repeated the now familiar air pressure check doorway procedure and soon found themselves in yet another debris-strewn interior corridor. After a quick survey that the other doors connected with this section were secure, the Doctor declared it safe for them to stop.

"Ooh, look what we've got here," Morvin exclaimed. "A food trolley!"

"Thank goodness, I'm starving!" Foon added.

"Of course you're excited to see food," Rickston snarked rudely.

"You'll not be wanting any then?" Foon looked at him archly, "no skin off my nose, more here for the rest of us."

Astrid stepped in. "Let's first see what we have in the trolley before anyone starts eating, shall we?"

The Doctor left them to sort the provisions and went to see if he could get the comms up and running in the room. He wanted to check in with Midshipman Frame regarding the status of the ship since they'd last been in contact and warn him about the Host.

A few loose wires reconnected and they were in business. "Deck Thirty Five to Bridge, Midshipman, are you still with us?" he hailed.

A crackle and then, "is that you Doctor?" His voice sounded weaker than it had before.

"Indeed it is. We're whole if not hale and hearty down here, had a bit of a run in with the Host. Seems someone has programmed them to kill. What's the situation on the Bridge, are you safe?"

"I... I had to use the maximum deadlock on the Bridge, sir. The Host are outside; they won't be able to get in, but neither will anyone else," Frame replied.

"We'll deal with that when it comes to it. Have you been able to contact any other survivors?" the Doctor asked.

"I had, briefly... but, the Host, I've gotten reports that they're all over the ship. I've got the internal sensor grid running as best as it can manage and all the pockets of lifesigns keep going dark!"

"Have you any idea where someone might be controlling them from?" The Doctor prodded the small datascreen in front of him, now showing the familiar ship's schematic thanks to George's security code. With the additional sensor data, it was now populated with faint blue dots in the few remaining portions of the ship where lifesigns lingered. He noticed that the map also indicated where the sensor grid was active, giving him a rough idea of the scope and location of the damage to the ship. He sucked in a breath through his teeth sharply. It was worse than he'd thought.

"Could be anywhere, really, or just someone's cleverly hacked their programming. The Host are all linked into the ship's secondary computer system, it has access nodes all over the place," Frame told him.

The Doctor peered closely at the schematic. Something wasn't right here, a dark spot on the sensor grid, unlike the impact zones of the meteor strikes, it was too regular in shape.

"Mr. Frame, what's on Deck Thirty One? Do you see this dark sector on the map?" he asked.

"Nothing much, it's a cargo deck mostly. Host storage bay is near there. I'm not getting anything from that section though, no power, no heat signature, nothing!"

"That may bear investigating then, once I've dealt with the engines," the Doctor told him.

"I can try and increase the scans." The midshipman's voice had grown stronger with newfound purpose.

"Let me know if you find anything," the Doctor signed off and slid wearily to the floor with his back to the wall.

He could feel precious seconds ticking by as he sat there, but despite the Host's attack, they'd made good enough time. The engines were holding steady for now; he could allow himself, and the others, a proper break. Fumbling with the knot of his bow tie with his left hand he managed to tug it loose and unbutton his collar. His right arm felt warm to the touch even through his clothing and wouldn't bend at the elbow. He might've torn a ligament or two, he wasn't sure. Thanks to his Time Lord biology, it would heal rapidly, but not without real sleep, a luxury he couldn't afford just yet. A light doze against a bulkhead wall was about as good as he was going to get.

His attempted nap was soon interrupted by the sensation of someone settling in next to him. He opened one eye to see who it was; Astrid, of course.

She smiled at him and held up some food. "Saved you some. You might be a fancy Time Lord action hero bloke, but you still need to eat."

He accepted the vaguely sandwich-like offering with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

She gave him a cheeky once over, "although, I must say, you're looking pretty good for six hundred."

He chuckled as he ate, still somewhat oblivious to her flirtation, "closer to nine, actually."

She laughed and leaned in closer to him. "Even better then." Something in her tone made him look up to meet her eyes. The Doctor finally caught her meaning and felt a blush creep to his cheeks. He found himself suddenly quite at a loss for words.

Their conversation might have continued but the Doctor was spared possible further awkwardness by a loud 'TWUMP'ing sound from one of the metal doors.

"We've got Host incoming!" George shouted.

The heavy door buckled under the onslaught of the Host robots as the eight survivors scrambled to their feet. With Astrid at his side, the Doctor ran to the door opposite where the Host were attacking and threw it open in a hurry. It led to a long, narrow service corridor that offered little in the way of cover, but at the moment it was their only way out. 

Not everyone in their party was as quick on their feet though; Morvin, Foon and Mr. Copper were all still making their way to the exit when the Host broke through the door to enter the room. With effortless precision, one of the robots sent its razor sharp halo spinning towards them, striking poor Mr. Copper in the back. The older man dropped to the floor, blood bubbling up to his mouth as his lungs filled, a bright red stain spreading from his wound, where the halo remained embedded in his flesh. 

"Information: surviving passengers are to be eliminated. Thank you for choosing Max Capricorn Cruiseliners. Kill. Kill," the angelic robots intoned coldly.

Foon screamed and dragged her husband, frozen in shock himself, from the room before they too lost their lives to the merciless Host. They joined the others stumbling in terror down the lengthy corridor, the robots fast behind them. Without weapons with which to defend themselves, there was nothing for them to do but run and hope that they could reach the end before the Host caught up with them. They all ducked as another deadly projectile ricocheted off of the walls towards them, very nearly taking Rickston's head off but the man was saved by George's timely intervention, pulling him sharply to the side. The halo instead struck a supply line of some sort that had been along the wall, filling the space with a cloud of steam, and obscuring their view of the advancing robots. 

The Doctor reached the end of the corridor first. Ignoring the numerous caution signs on the door, he jabbed at the controls to open it and turned around to see that the others all made it through this one. The emergency lighting reflected off of the steam, giving the corridor an eerie look that combined with the echoing flat, sinister tones of their robot pursuers repeating "kill, kill" became downright menacing. The last of their party stepped through the doorway just as the first of the Host emerged into view, its white robes billowing as it moved. The Doctor did not stay to watch it, ducking behind the door himself and immediately turning his attention to the locking mechanism. 

"Doctor." A nervous voice behind him pulled his attention from his efforts to engage the deadlock; he clicked it in place and turned to see who had spoken. The Doctor stilled at the sight before him. 

"Out of the frying pan, then," he muttered to himself. The room they had entered was actually fairly close to the one they'd been searching for, a part of the engine maintenance and oversight systems, certainly. They were standing on an observation platform just a few metres wide that overlooked a rather dizzying drop to an open portion of the nuclear storm drive itself. The only exit, other than the one they'd just entered from, was across from them on a similar platform. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a simple matter of traversing a catwalk that spanned the distance between the two platforms, but that option had rather unfortunately been eliminated for them by the meteor strike. The twisted remains of the catwalk hung in pieces from the other platform. They were trapped.

Evidently the Doctor had not been the only one to come to this conclusion; as he stood thinking of what he could possibly do to get them out of here, a warm hand joined his and laced its fingers with his own. He turned his head to glance at Astrid's face in profile. Her chin was up but her eyes were bright with unshed tears. He looked at the others to see them all staring at him expectantly, fighting off the panic that they'd otherwise have succumbed to on the hope that the Time Lord would produce a miracle. Their newfound faith in him galvanized his resolve to see them all safely out of this crisis.

Already the sounds of pounding emanated from the deadlocked door that separated them all from the Host. Owing to the need for radiation shielding in case of an engine containment field breach, it was a sturdier door than the previous but it would not hold forever under constant assault. Giving Astrid's hand what he intended to be a reassuring squeeze before he released it, the Doctor's eyes locked on a control panel situated on the platform against the wall. He stepped over to it, an idea sparking in his mind. 

"Be ready in case they get that door open," he barked, "I'm going to try something." The Doctor's good hand raced over the panel's touch interface, looking for the emergency override subroutines in the ship's environmental controls for this sector. The pounding on the door had grown louder; they'd be overrun with Host again very soon. Finally locating the system he'd been searching for, the Doctor gripped the edge of the panel firmly and shouted to the others over the din, "I'd recommend finding something to hold on to, now!" 

He tapped the panel with his free hand awkwardly and the artificial gravity cut out. Exclamations of surprise came from his companions but the Doctor grinned and carefully used his grip on the control panel to leverage himself around. 

"I've shut down the artificial gravity temporarily so that we can make it across," he informed them merrily. "We need only to propel ourselves over the gap to the other platform. A reasonably solid push off of the wall here ought to be enough propulsion, but bear in mind that weightlessness is a bit of a misnomer, you still retain mass, and as such do need to take care so that you don't hurt yourselves by being too forceful."

"Are you mad?!" Rickston shouted at him, clinging desperately to a railing.

"Very probably," the Doctor replied, "but even you ought to be able to see the logic of listening to a madman over certain death, Rickston." He let go of the panel with a gentle push and drifted over to the railing at the edge of the platform. "Shall I demonstrate?" 

He cautiously swung himself over the railing to place his feet in the optimal position to push off from. He did his best not to look at the superheated plasma roiling far beneath him and maintained a cheery grin that masked his own unease. The constant falling sensation that accompanied weightlessness was really not helping his own fear of heights.

With a motion remarkably similar to springing from a crouch, the Doctor pushed off of the railing and out over the abyss. He tipped his head back to watch his trajectory and grabbed at the railing on the opposite platform to slow his momentum before he collided with it headfirst. He called back to the others, "it's simple, see? Come on then, before the Host catch us up!"

George was the first of them brave enough to follow the Doctor across, catching his arm with an elated expression as he safely made it to the platform. He took up a position on railing with the Doctor to help catch the others as they made the trip as well. Astrid was the second across, a wide smile on her face as the Doctor caught her in his arms, followed by Rickston, looking unsettled but covering it with false bravado. 

On the other platform Morvin was trying to talk Foon into crossing while Bannakaffalatta manoeuvred himself into position. Aside from the constant hum of the engines, it had suddenly grown quieter in the chamber, suspiciously so.

"They've stopped," George said, nervously identifying what was missing. "Why've they stopped?"

"Nevermind that for now," the Doctor said, "we need to be moving on before we find out. Get that door open, I'll be right back with the others." He grit his teeth and pushed himself across the empty space once more.

Catching himself against the railing and wincing at the strain all this was putting on his injured arm, the Doctor turned to Morvin and Foon. "I hate to interrupt, but it is rather imperative that we get to the other platform as soon as possible." He motioned to Bannakaffalatta to go ahead. The small man did so and Foon shuddered as she watched him traverse the span. He made it safely across and the Doctor gave her an encouraging smile, his hair floating around his face. "See? Nothing to it."

"I'll be with you sweetheart," her husband offered, "you can't fall when there's no such thing as down."

The Doctor nodded. "And I'll be right behind you."

Shaking, Foon nodded slowly and let Morvin guide her into position. He held her hand tightly and together the pair pushed off from the platform. The Doctor watched until they were at the opposite platform before readying himself to do the same. Just as he let go, five Host appeared in his field of view above him. 

They descended on the group slowly, navigating the airspace with personal ion thrusters attached to large angelic wings mounted on their backs, and recommenced their halo assault. One of them struck a glancing blow on the Doctor, throwing him into a spin and disrupting his trajectory, forcing him to use his right hand to grab hold of the remains of the catwalk hanging well below the platform. Gasping for air, he clung to the damaged structure willing the white hot pain in his arm and side to dim so that he could push himself up to help the others with the Host. Droplets of his blood floated past as he looked to the platform above.

On the platform, the survivors were doing their best to fend off the Host attack. Astrid was wielding her metal tube like a bat and had managed to successfully repel two of the halos back at the Host by bracing herself with her leg threaded through the railings. Morvin, Foon, and Bannakaffalatta were trying to do the same with pieces of debris they'd found while George and Rickston worked to open the door that had been damaged somehow in the collision and wasn't cooperating. It was a losing battle though, the lack of artificial gravity actually significantly advantaged the robots that had been designed with occasional use in making repairs to the exterior of the hull in mind. 

Realising the desperation of their situation, Bannakaffalatta came to a decision. He let go of the piece of metal he'd been holding and tore his shirt open, sending buttons flying. "Bannakaffalatta stop you. Bannakaffalatta proud cyborg!" He pressed something on his chest and emitted a massive blue energy discharge. The Host jerked and sparked, powering down and drifting lifelessly in place. Bannakaffalatta himself went limp, his grip on the platform going slack and floated free.

Seizing his opportunity now that the barrage had ceased, the Doctor guided himself hand over hand back up to the platform to find Astrid and the others gathered around the fallen hero.

"Bannakaffalatta did good?" he asked, wheezing. They all nodded.

"Electromagnetic pulse, why didn't I think of that?" The Doctor smiled at the small spiked man. "We owe you our lives Bannakaffalatta."

Astrid looked at the Doctor. "He used all of his power to do it though, he's dying." She turned back to Bannakaffalatta. "We could get you to a powerpoint, recharge you!"

"Too late. Don't cry, pretty girl. Bannakaffalatta happy." He patted Astrid's hand absently and closed his eyes. The group floated in silence around him as he stopped breathing.

The Doctor pushed himself over to the control panel, hoping that its radiation shielding had protected it from the electromagnetic pulse. "I'm going to try to restart the artificial gravity in case those Host reboot. I'd recommend getting as close to the floor as possible for this," he told the group. 

There was a lurch as up and down reasserted themselves. He watched the deactivated Hosts plummet to the reactor below. "Mind the gap," he muttered to himself as they fell. The Doctor tapped the controls again and the door slid open a handful of centimetres before squealing and stopping. He sighed and recruited to George to help use one of the pieces of rebar that had served as an impromptu bat to lever the door open. 

Astrid, Morvin and Foon were sitting respectfully beside Bannakaffalatta's body while they waited on the door when Rickston reached over to press a small button on the cyborg's chest.

"What do you think you're doing? Leave him alone," Astrid asked him sharply.

He pulled a small metal cylinder from the dead man's chest plate. "It's the EMP transmitter. He's not going to be needing it anymore and we may be able to make use of it to defend ourselves."

"Always thinking of yourself, Rickston?" she snarled.

Foon put a hand on her arm. "Astrid, he's right though. If we recharge it, we'll be able to use it again if the Host return." Astrid closed her eyes and nodded, angry at Rickston and at the whole situation, really.

There was a triumphant yell from the Doctor and George as they managed to coax the door open enough to allow everyone exit, though only just. Once outside the engine observation room, the Doctor consulted a wall panel to get his bearings. They were approximately equidistant from both the mysterious sector on Deck Thirty One and their target, the auxiliary engine control bay on Deck Thirty Nine. Best stick to the plan for the moment, the temporary fix he'd suggested for the engine could start to fail any minute now.

"Nearly there. Stairwell just up ahead should take us directly to engine control." He tried to sound confident but knew his voice had taken on that breathless quality it tended to whenever he was in pain or under stress.

They waited there only long enough to charge the EMP transmitter Rickston had salvaged from their cyborg companion. They were soon very glad to have it; their path to the engine control bay crossed two more Host patrols and the device made short work of incapacitating them. Still, it was with great relief with which they arrived at their destination, a heavy metal door with a porthole in it marked "Auxiliary Engine Control 1" in gold lettering.

Inside, the room felt claustrophobic, one entire wall was devoted to a monitoring and control system for the complex starship engines, with several warning lights blinking rapidly on it. The rest of the space was cluttered with shelving filled with various ship components, it had obviously been used by the engineering staff as a dumping ground for low priority repair projects. The Doctor grimaced as he encountered the hapless engineer who'd been stationed here, his neck broken like the other man in the stateroom. The Host's doing, he now presumed. George and Morvin wheeled him out of the room on the chair by mutual consensus, the quarters were close enough without having to share them with a corpse.

The Doctor activated the comm, "auxiliary engine control to bridge, come in Midshipman."

"Doctor? Oh thank goodness!" Frame's voice was weak but clearly filled with relief. "I saw your numbers drop and then lost you on the scanner and feared you'd all been killed."

"It was a narrow thing. We've suffered two casualties, but hopefully we can avoid any further deaths. I'm bringing up the manual override system now. Let me know when you regain helm control on the bridge." The Doctor typed the reset command.

The lights on the console flashed red briefly and returned to normal. The six survivors held their breath as they awaited confirmation from the bridge that their quest had been successful. But there was nothing. Impatient, the Doctor leaned forward and keyed the comm. "Anything, Mr. Frame?"

The voice that replied was grim. "No, Doctor. It looks like the override signal is being rerouted. The helm still isn't responding and the engine containment field is starting to overload. I don't know if we have more than fifteen minutes until it fails entirely."


	4. Part Four

The group stood in stunned silence at this news for a moment, until Rickston broke the tension with the obvious question: "well, now what?"

The Doctor stood at the controls thinking, as the others watched and waited for him to respond to Rickston's question. Something about this situation didn't quite make sense to him, if only he could place his finger on exactly what it was. Everything they knew pointed to this business with the meteorites being intentional sabotage. The Captain himself had deactivated the shields and steered them into harm's way. But the man had died in the collision and the Host were systematically scouring the ship of survivors, while someone had set up a dampening field to block all hope of getting a distress signal out in time for rescue. And the manual override controls were even now being rerouted, making their looming date with destruction on the planet below all but inevitable.

"But why?" he wondered aloud, "why bother with killing all of the passengers if you're just going to crash the ship? For that matter, why bother crashing the ship at all? It's already a total loss; if we lose orbit, it just means even more innocent people are killed." Hands in his pockets, he began to pace the small room, nervous energy fuelling his thoughts. "Rickston, you said something earlier about the company doing poorly?" he asked.

"It's been bleeding profits for years now and they recently completely restructured their board of directors, rarely a sign of a healthy business. I'm only here as research for my investment portfolio." He paused and realised what the Doctor was getting at. "You think this could be about insurance money? Possibly, but the company stands to lose more than they'd gain if we crash. Why risk criminal charges and a complete public relations disaster when it'd be much easier to stage an accident?"

"Maybe we can ask," Foon suggested. The Doctor and Rickston turned to see that she and Morvin had located the head and torso of a Host on one of the shelves. Foon gestured to the incomplete robot. "Back on Sto, we both work with robotics; if this unit's not too badly damaged, maybe we can get some answers out of it without having to risk our lives." 

The Doctor nodded. "Good thinking, try it." He moved back over to key the comm. "Mr. Frame, keep trying to trace that override signal; I'm going to have a little chat with the Host down here, see if we can't get some answers." He returned to crouch beside Foon just as Morvin finished reconnecting wires and flicked a switch at the back of the robot's neck.

"Host 43719 online," it said. "Command protocol ninety nine active. Survivors must be eliminated; kill." It swivelled its head to look at each of them. "Information: Unable to comply, motor functions not responding. Entering diagnostic mode." The lights in its casing blinked rapidly for a few seconds. "This unit has been disabled. Other units responding to present location, you will be eliminated."

"Oh, Vot!" George exclaimed. The others all uttered similar expressions of dismay.

"Barricade the door, quick as you can!" the Doctor commanded. He turned back to examine their captive Host. "You're programmed to provide guest information services. I find myself in need of some right now."

"Information: you are going to die. Further information not available to guests at this time."

"What if I'm not a guest?" he tried. It ignored him.

Aggravated, the Doctor asked, "isn't there some sort of emergency command that these things will respond to?"

"Try Security Protocol One," George offered from his position by the door. "That only gets you three questions though, found that out while we were upstairs."

"Better make them count then," the Doctor muttered and then raising his voice, addressed the robot, "Unit 43719, I'm invoking Security Protocol One. Tell me, why have you been ordered to kill the survivors?"

"Information: no witnesses," it replied.

"Who ordered you to do so?"

"Information: Max Capricorn."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows, behind him, he could hear the others react as well as the distant sounds of metal footsteps approaching out in the corridor. That answer raised some very interesting questions indeed, but they were working with a very real deadline now. Satisfying his curiosity would have to wait.

"Where have the helm controls been rerouted to?" he asked, already suspecting the answer he would receive.

"Information: Deck Thirty One Command Centre." 

"Right then." The Doctor stood abruptly. "That's where I need to be."

"How're you going to get there in time?" George asked. "The corridor's filling with Host!"

"The EMP has to be recharged every time you use it, with that many of them, it'd be suicide going out there!" Rickston added.

The Doctor frowned and looked around the room for inspiration. He had no idea if he'd survive a crash long enough to regenerate but he knew that his companions didn't even have that possibility if it came to it. Neither did the millions of unsuspecting humans whose fate hung in the balance with them. He really had nothing to lose. He didn't have a plan either, but that was rather beside the point.

"You'd need a teleport to get to Deck Thirty One with that many Host in the way." Astrid agreed.

"That's it!" the Doctor crowed. "Astrid, you're brilliant!" He grinned wildly and jumped to the console to get on the comm again. "Mr. Frame! Have you got control of the ship's short range teleport up there? I need to get to Deck Thirty One; according to the Host, that's where our missing helm controls have been rerouted."

"Normally, yes, but you'd need a bracelet and all of the ship's power is being used to keep the engines online at the moment," the midshipman replied. 

"Have one," the Doctor said triumphantly, shaking his wrist to reveal the silver bangle that had been concealed by his sleeve. "Forgot to return it earlier. I just need you to get me enough power to get me there and I'll get you your helm back."

There was a pause. "All right. Hold on."

"You're going there alone?" Astrid looked concerned.

"Only one teleport bracelet. I'll be fine," he assured her.

"What about the rest of us?" Rickston asked.

The Doctor looked at the barricaded door, shaking as the Host attempted to force their way inside. "I'll leave you the EMP, use it if the Host get through."

"But then how will you protect yourself?" Foon asked him.

"I'll just have to be careful," he responded.

The lights flickered and Midshipman Frame's voice returned on the comm, "ready when you are, Doctor."

"That's my cue. Look after one another." The Doctor reached over to tap the comm key but stopped as Astrid called, "wait!"

"There's an old tradition on Planet Sto," she continued, bending to retrieve a box from one of the shelves.

"Astrid, I really must be going..."

"Just hold on," she insisted and set the box in front of him. He watched with a puzzled expression as she stepped on top of it, bringing herself up to his level. Astrid seized him by the lapels and he had just enough time to wonder what she was doing when the answer presented itself as she kissed him soundly on the lips. Releasing him, she flashed a delighted smile at his wide eyed and flustered expression. 

"Brave heart, Doctor," she told him and straightened the celery she'd disturbed on his lapel.

"That's... a very old tradition," he managed; his voice, traitor that it was, had climbed in pitch considerably.

"See you later." Astrid closed her mouth, trying not to giggle at his reaction; it wouldn't be kind, especially considering he was risking his life to try and save theirs.

He fumbled with the control panel, his fingers clumsily locating the correct button. "Ready here, Midshipman," he answered and swiftly faded from view as the teleport glow settled around his body.

\-----

The teleport deposited him just outside an unmarked metal hatch; presumably, on the other side lay the mysterious Deck Thirty One Command Centre, but there was only one way to find out. With some trepidation, the Doctor tried the latch mechanism and was gratefully surprised when it turned easily in his hand; he was hardly in any condition to be applying brute force to any doors at the moment. The hatch swung open slowly, revealing a moderately sized, dimly lit chamber. 

A large portion of the exterior bulkhead and part of the floor had been shredded by the meteor impact, leaving great gaping holes open to space. The Doctor could just see the faint blue glimmer of the force field protecting him from the vacuum. Other than the damage, by all appearances it seemed to be just another storage bay, littered with supply crates and equipment, save for one feature; directly at its centre sat an enormous black box. It was easily larger than anything else in the room and had no visible seams suggesting how one might open it. Every instinct told the Doctor that the box held the answers he sought. 

It looked to be unguarded but sadly, this was not the case. As soon as he'd set foot on the platform on which the container sat, an alarm sounded and the chamber flooded with light from a previously invisible security grid. With remarkable speed, the Doctor was surrounded by Host robots. Where precisely they'd been hiding themselves in that room eluded him, but there wasn't much time for speculation as they closed in, chanting, “information: Unauthorized presence in Command Centre. Kill. Kill.”

\-----

Back in the auxiliary engine control room, the remaining survivors were busy attempting to hold the barricaded door against the onslaught of the Host when quite suddenly, the robots stopped their attack. 

"Hang on, it's gone quiet again," Morvin whispered and looked at the door anxiously when the merciless pounding ceased. "Do you think they've given up?"

"It must be some sort of trick," Rickston muttered, not moving from his position behind a heavy shelving unit that they'd used to blockade the door.

"Still, best check," Astrid suggested and gestured toward the barricade with the hand holding the EMP device at the ready. "We don't have to open the door to look and it's better than letting them surprise us."

George was closest so he was the one who shifted the stacked furniture just enough to peer through the shattered porthole window. "They're just leaving?!" he exclaimed in confusion.

"Why would they just leave? They haven't killed us yet!" Foon asked. 

"Maybe the Doctor was able to do something?" Morvin offered.

"Why don't we ask our hostage again?" Rickston nodded at the broken robot they'd interrogated earlier. 

"Good idea." Astrid went over to the deactivated Host and toggled its power switch.

"Host 43719 online," it repeated, "command protocol special override: Unauthorized presence in Command Centre. All Host report to Deck Thirty One to eliminate intruder. Information: Unable to comply..."

Astrid hurriedly flicked the power back off before the robot could complete its diagnostics again and decide to recall some of the Host back to their location. The silence in the room lingered as the survivors each considered this new information.

"So much for the Doctor's brilliant plan," Rickston grumbled. 

"Shut it, Rickston," Foon snapped. "You're not helping."

"We should follow them," Astrid announced. The others looked at her incredulously. 

"What good would that do? Other than get us all killed faster?" Rickston asked sarcastically.

"We've got the EMP, for one. He hasn't." Astrid looked at them from face to face, pleadingly. "There are what, a hundred Host on this ship? How's the Doctor supposed to take on all of them alone? If we can't get helm control back to the bridge, we're all dead anyway. I can't just sit here, not if I might be able to help."

"We can't all go, someone should remain here in case the emergency override signal needs to be sent again," George replied.

"We can stay. Foon is injured anyhow, we'd only slow you down," Morvin held his wife's hand tightly. She gave him a pained smile.

Astrid nodded and looked to the other two men. "George, Rickston, coming with me?"

George answered in the affirmative and began clearing the barricaded door. Rickston's answer was less positive. "Like hell I'm joining your suicide mission. If you want to go out there, that's your business. I don't do heroics."

"Fine." Astrid handed her improvised metal baton to George and checked the charge on the EMP device. "Take care of yourselves," she told Morvin and Foon warmly with a somewhat icier glance at Rickston. Then she and George hurried out of the engine control room in pursuit of the retreating Host.

\-----

Miraculously, the Doctor was still alive, having had the foresight (albeit at very nearly the last possible second) to loudly invoke "Security Protocol One" before the advancing Host could cause his departure from this mortal coil. With a bit of quick thinking, he'd been able to convince them that as neither a ticketed passenger nor member of the crew, their orders regarding elimination of witnesses did not apply to him and thus he should be presented to a higher authority without delay. This got him frogmarched to a position in front of the mysterious box as the room behind him slowly filled with a small army of Host.

At first, nothing happened for several seconds and the Doctor rocked nervously back on his heels, looking between the two Host that flanked him, standing stoically at attention as though expecting something. Then there was a strange rumbling sound that echoed in the chamber followed by the snap, hiss of a pressurized hatch being released as a well-concealed doorway slid open in the box before him. From it emerged a wheeled metal contraption fitted with a clear case at its top containing a myriad of tubes and a ghastly preserved humanoid head. 

"Ah, of course," the Doctor commented, "an Omnistate Impact Chamber, those things are practically indestructible. Just what the discerning industrialist would need to survive a shipwreck. May I presume then, that you would be..."

"Max Capricorn," the severed head answered him with a gruesome smile that flashed his trademark golden tooth. "Who the hell is this?"

"Information: Stowaway," the nearest Host replied.

"I'm the Doctor. I'd say I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, but under the circumstances..."

"Kill him," Max ordered.

"Wait, wait! Don't you think you're getting _ahead_ of yourself just a little? You haven't even asked me what I'm doing here," the Doctor tried as the Host seized both of his arms.

"Oh, a funny man, I see." He rolled closer to the Doctor, his life support system wheezing. "People like you are why I've had to spend the last fifty two years running this company from behind a hologram. You're all the same, thinking you're better just because you've still got your original legs. Talk to me again when you're nearing two hundred and more machine than man!" 

The Doctor wisely elected _not_ to inform the enraged businessman that he was, in fact, much older than he looked and furthermore, already on his fifth set of legs. At this point it would come across as gloating and that seemed in poor taste, considering. 

"Why should I care what you're doing here?" Max concluded and turned to bark at his robotic minions, "Host, situation report!" 

"Information: Titanic is still in orbit."

"What? We should've crashed by now," Max growled angrily and reversed his box away from the Doctor to get a better look at the slice of the planet visible through the tear in the hull. "The goddamn engines are still running," he exclaimed, "they should've shut down ages ago!"

"Ah yes, that would be my doing, I'm afraid," the Doctor told him. Attempting to seem as nonchalant as possible, he continued, "I've got this terrible aversion to crashing into planets, you see. Tends to end with death and that's a nasty, unpleasant business; I don't recommend it." 

Max Capricorn stared at him for a few beats before bursting into cackling laughter. Somewhat encouraged by this reaction, the Doctor kept talking. "Besides the personal interest in not dying, that also happens to be one of my favourite planets you're threatening. I can't quite put my finger on why though. You've already succeeded in staging the collision and nearly wiped out all the surviving witnesses onboard, why kill all those innocent people on Earth as well?"

"You think you're so clever, you figure it out," Max replied.

"This isn't about the money, is it," the Doctor considered. "If it were, you'd have cashed out long ago, before the business started to go south. Instead, you've put a starliner on a collision course with a level five planet and locked the helm controls to prevent anyone from stopping it. The meteorites might've been written off as a tragic accident, but not this. If the Titanic goes down, it'll take more than the company's fortunes with it. The Shadow Proclamation might even get involved. This is about revenge!"

"Exactly. My own board stabbed me in the back. One hundred and sixty seven years I ran this company, and this is how they repay me? They can rot in prison," Max snarled. "I have men waiting to retrieve me from the ruins, and enough off-world accounts to retire to the beaches of Penhaxico Two. They say the ladies there are fond of metal."

"That's your plan then. _Marvellous_. Millions of people are about to die because of Max Capricorn's bruised ego!" the Doctor snapped at him. 

"Ego? My name is on every ship in the fleet; my face used to be synonymous with unsurpassed quality! Women wanted me, men admired me; everything I touched turned to gold!"

"If I recall correctly, things didn't end that well for Midas either," the Doctor remarked, but Max, mid rant (and unlikely to understand the reference anyway), ignored him. 

"I was named one of the fifty most powerful beings on Sto! Eighty years running! And as soon as my back was turned, as soon as I couldn't be there in person to keep a close eye on the business, they started trying to take it all away from me. Their changes killed our profits, cost me my reputation, and the greedy bastards had the gall to blame me? What are the lives of a few million primitives compared to that? I'm Max Capricorn!" he shouted.

The Doctor, for whom 'vexed' was normally about as emotionally expressive as this incarnation tended to get, was approaching properly furious now and he found himself shouting back, "some powerful man you are, Max, you can't even sink the Titanic!"

This retort would have possibly carried more weight had the engines not chosen that moment to shudder and wind down, causing the whole ship to tremble as the powerful interstellar turbines tried to cope with the erratic power delivery.

Max smiled at the Doctor. "Not as clever as you thought. Host, kill him."

"No. No! Security Protocol One!" the Doctor struggled against the Host that held him.

"Information: Your three questions have already been used," the Host replied.

"Nice try, Doctor. I'd stay to see you off, but I've got to be getting back to my lifeboat," Max sneered and began trundling back to his impact chamber. 

"Mr. Capricorn!" a male voice shouted from behind him. Startled, Max and the Doctor both turned to see George seated behind the controls of a forklift. "I'd like to tender my resignation!" he announced and promptly put his foot down on the accelerator pedal. 

The forklift collided with Capricorn's life support box and lifted it off of the deck, leaving its industrial wheels to spin uselessly as George slowly piloted the madman over to the edge of the abyss. Panicked, Max screamed for the Host to kill him and soon the air was filled with flying halos. They ricocheted dangerously off of the forklift cage and nearly every hard surface in the storage bay. In the chaos, the Doctor found that his arms had been released and jumped free to run right into Astrid.

"Doctor!" she cried. "Get to the helm controls, I've got this!" She brandished the EMP device and ducking to stay as low as possible, ran straight into the crowd of Host.

"Astrid!" the Doctor called after her, but she'd already gone so he decided to trust her and do as she asked. He ran inside the impact chamber, closing the door just before Astrid activated the electromagnetic pulse. Working as quickly as he could, he found the appropriate panel and deactivated the system overrides that Capricorn had put in place, hopefully restoring the helm controls to the bridge. He didn't have access to the comm system in here to be sure. He hit the door button again, aware that George and Astrid were fighting a madman and a horde of murderous robots with only an EMP and a forklift between them.

The impact chamber opened to reveal Astrid standing amidst a field of deactivated Host, tears streaming down her face. There was no sign of George, the forklift, or Max Capricorn. Guessing what must've occurred in his absence, the Doctor went over to her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"He... he couldn't stop in time, the Host damaged the brakes. If only I'd..." she hiccoughed her words.

"You did everything you could Astrid. George knew what he was doing," he reassured her. "Come on, we're not done yet." 

He led her through the robots and out of the storage chamber. In the corridor, near the stairwell Astrid and George had taken to come to the Doctor's aid, they found a working comm and got in touch with Midshipman Frame on the Bridge.

"Doctor! Yes, I've got full helm control up here again, but the engines have shut down completely. I'm trying to get them relit, but that takes more time than we've got. We're still losing orbit!" the Midshipman confirmed the Doctor's fears.

Closing his eyes, the Doctor leaned his head against the bulkhead wearily. What now? All that effort and they might still end up roasted. Wait. The Doctor opened his eyes; that was it!

"Midshipman, I have an idea, but you're not going to like it..."

\-----

Using the heat of re-entry to ignite the Secondary Storm Drive wasn't pretty, but it worked. Eventually, the Titanic was back in a stable orbit, awaiting the imminent arrival of a rescue ship from Sto. The Doctor and Astrid were reunited with the Van Hoffs and Rickston and together with some creative employment of the now much more cooperative remaining Host, they were able to free Midshipman Frame from the maximum deadlock.

"Pleased to finally meet you in person, Mr. Frame," the Doctor greeted him warmly and winced as he shook his hand carefully.

"Doctor," the young crewman returned the greeting, "you saved us, how can I ever thank you?"

"Nonsense! You did most of the hard work in the end. I wouldn't say no to a lift back to my ship though, if you're offering," the Doctor tapped the metal teleport bracelet still encircling his wrist.

"Your ship?" Frame looked confused. 

"Ah, well strictly speaking, I wasn't exactly a proper passenger. Long story. Best if I'm on my way before the authorities show up though, eh?"

Frame nodded, still puzzled but in light of everything, a helpful stowaway was the least of his worries. Using the ship's sensors, the Doctor was able to locate the TARDIS; ever predictable, she'd landed just outside London. He keyed in the coordinates into the teleport system before making his goodbyes.

Foon and Morvin both hugged him tightly. "If ever you find yourself on Sto, look us up, we'll make sure to get a decent meal in you, if nothing else," Foon told him with a teasing nudge at his ribs. He laughed and promised to call in on them if possible. 

Rickston shook his hand stiffly and apologized for "being a bit of a prat" but the moment was somewhat ruined when he then remarked that it was funny that he'd just told his broker to short Capricorn stock, so he'd probably make millions off of this incident from that alone. The Doctor was barely half a step away when Rickston returned to the animated vone conversation he'd been carrying on since external communications had been restored.

He'd saved Astrid for last. She held his suit jacket out to him, he'd given it to her earlier when she'd started shivering on the walk back to the engine control room. "I should be going," he began, taking the jacket. "I wish I could say it's been fun," he gave her a wan smile, "I am glad to have met you though."

"Back to the life of a lonely traveller?" she asked him. He nodded. "I don't suppose there's any room in that crate you call a spaceship for two is there?" she asked quietly. "I haven't really got any family back on Sto and well, I'm pretty sure I'm out of a job now."

"My life isn't always the safest," he cautioned her.

"And today was?" she replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Point taken," he conceded. "In that case, I would be delighted to have your company, Miss Peth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue credits and the Doctor Who theme! I hope you all enjoyed this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have the time and inclination to do so, reader feedback is joyfully accepted and much appreciated.
> 
> Fivey fans take note, I'm planning much more for the Alt!Fifth Doctor following this (all original stories too)! _Unsinkable_ is the first in what I'm calling his "pre-Time War" series featuring the lovely Astrid Peth as his companion. He will also appear in a "post-Time War" series that begins with _And Then There Was One_.


End file.
